Daddy’s Little Mafia Princess (Daddy’s Little #4)

1. Chapter 1

V iktor

She sits at her father’s elbow, at the head of the white and gold gilded banquet table, as regal as a princess. When I get her home, it’ll be my delight to fuck her like a whore.

Still, if one is forced to marry, one could do far worse than Clara Pisani.

She’s gorgeous—slim, petite, nice ass, and breasts perfectly sized for her small frame.

Her long wavy hair is the color of midnight.

From the back of the banquet room, I can’t tell the color of her eyes, but I’ll bet they’re just as dark.

She won’t look at me. She’s looking at her hands, coy as hell, not once glancing up, even when my arrival was announced at the door.

Yeah, she is beautiful, but that’s the least attractive thing about her. Her best quality is her father’s casino, or rather the restaurant I want to put in it.

Nothing launders money better or faster than an upscale dining establishment in a casino just off the Las Vegas Strip.

Her father knows he’s sitting on prime real estate.

He also knows his casino is nothing compared to the Big Boys towering all around him—the Mirage, MGM, Bellagio, Flamingo, the list goes on.

The Crown is nothing compared to those—not yet—but it could be, which is the only reason he’s sitting here tonight.

I promised him the money he needs to renovate and bring the Crown up to that kind of luxury par.

No one would have let me walk through the banquet hall doors otherwise.

My name is Viktor Antonov. The man at the head of the table next to my future princess is Alviero Pisani, my father’s nearest and dearest enemy.

Two years ago, my father was shot walking from his front door to the car.

His murder has never been solved, but everyone knows Alviero ordered the hit.

It was his permanent resolution to a thirty-year-old dispute that bore absolutely no relevance to either of our families’ current businesses.

He thinks I want revenge. He thinks that’s why I’ve chosen his casino and why we’re all here.

I don’t want revenge. I want to make a purchase, one that makes good business sense for everyone.

Alviero needs enough money to renovate and to pay back what he’s stolen from his casino partners.

He needs to make the King’s Crown Casino every bit a star as the Wynn or the New York-New York.

I can do that for him. I have money in spades, but as he did in life, even in death, my father is getting in the way.

Before Alviero lets me set foot in his casino, much less buy restaurant space, he requires… assurances.

In his mind, I’ll be less inclined to avenge my ‘dearly’ departed father’s murder if I’m married to his daughter. In my mind, if I was inclined to kill him, I’d have done it two years ago.

Whatever.

This is still a good deal… better than good. It’s perfect, and I’m not about to let something as archaic as a blood vendetta, I have no interest in declaring, impede my future monetary happiness.

If I have to marry his daughter to get what I want, just show me to the altar.

I stand in the doorway, my bodyguards like silent shadows behind me, watching as Pisani’s consigliere bends to whisper in Alviero’s ear, and the old man glances my way.

‘Old man.’ The boss of the damn-near defunct Nicotera family is in his fifties.

He sizes me up, his jaw tightening, the corner of his mouth ticcing with his distaste before he finally nods.

As if he didn’t hear when I was announced almost five minutes ago.

As if I wasn’t watching the fucker. Finally, he beckons me to his table.

My men find a quiet place to stand along a nearby wall while I sit across the table from this very minor Las Vegas king without invitation and pick up a napkin.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” I politely say before offering his daughter my most charming smile. “Good morning, Miss Pisani.”

She swallows but barely glances up from her hands. She’s pale, not so much regal now that I’m up close to her. She’s scared. I wonder what they’ve told her.

The flutter at the base of her throat is the silent thundering of a terrified heart, betrayed by the thin, pale barrier of her skin. Clutching her hands, she doesn’t respond.

“Don’t be rude,” her father tells her, although the smile he aims at me is anything but apologetic. We’re all sharks in this elegant room, all but one—the dark-hair beauty only a table’s width away from me. Turning his attention back to his steak, Alviero motions for a waiter to bring me a plate.

I won’t be eating anything brought to me by Pisani’s men.

I bear no grudges for my father, but I’m not stupid.

Poison is every bit as effective as bullets, and Alviero is nothing if not ‘old school’ when it comes to vendettas.

There’s a chance he might not consider the thirty-year-old issue dead with only my father, and I’m the sole heir of an empire far more lucrative than his had become.

“Tell me,” Alviero says, cutting another bite off his steak. “Why my casino?”

“The location,” I tell him honestly. Diplomacy had me adding, “It still has its grandeur, and I believe it could be every bit as great as those on the Vegas Strip.”

“Do you?” Alviero looks at me, his cold coal eyes showing just a spark of interest.

A plate is placed before me, but I don’t look away from Alviero, who, after a moment’s quiet contemplation, nods to his consigliere. Taking a contract from his briefcase, the man slides it toward me.

“My daughter will inherit my empire, but only after twenty years of marriage between you, and only if I die in peace. If I’m shot, she gets nothing. If I get hit by a car,”—he looks at me—“she gets nothing. If—”

“Give her nothing,” I tell him flatly. “I don’t need or want your empire. I’m not here for blood. I’m here to make us both incredibly rich.”

“No one gets rich with a restaurant,” Alviero scoffs.

“They will with the money I launder through the restaurant and with the money I’m willing to pour into your establishment, both turning it into a competitive palace for tourists and to stem the tide of losses you’ve had the last few years. You need the Crown to turn a profit again.”

He studies me, that spark of interest growing. “What percentage are you offering of the laundering?”

I don’t so much as blink.

“Not one penny, but nor am I asking repayment for the three billion I intend to sink into your renovations, all of which I alone will control to ensure the money is… effectively spent.”

Deliberately loud, Alviero drops his fork on his plate.

The sound made Clara jump. I didn’t like the nervous way she watches him.

Her father’s temper was infamous. How many times, I wonder, has she found herself on the hot side of it.

I didn’t like the images that evoked. It doesn’t matter.

She’ll be mine soon, and when she is, she’ll never have to fear his heavy hand again.

Fearing mine was another matter.

“You’ll manage the renovations?” he snaps, a slow flush rising to stain his face a dull red. “You?”

“You want assurances that I won’t stab you in the back once my restaurant is in operation.

I want assurances my money will be spent in a way that profits rather than sinks us both into debt.

So yes, I will manage the renovations. Start to finish.

You don’t know how to manage,” I tell him bluntly.

“And plainly speaking, you steal from the till.”

“You need me far more than I need you,” Alviero spat hotly. Does he even know his fist is clenching next to his plate? He looks like a man who doesn’t know how to control himself, much less the situation.

“No,” I reply. “Without my money, the Crown will be bankrupt in a matter of months. You haven’t been able to meet your debts in over two years.

Your partners, who lent you the capital to buy this place, are wondering why they’re not seeing profits like they used to.

Their payments keep decreasing every quarter, yet the gaming floor sees a steady stream of tourists.

They’re losing patience with you. Soon someone’s going to think to ask for an audit, and you don’t strike me as someone smart enough to hide all the ways you’ve been skimming from the top. ”

“You son of a bitch,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You go behind my back and talk to my people? My people?”

“My offer is non-negotiable.”

His face purples, and his dark eyes darken.

“Take it,” I coax. “You’ll make a lot of money. Not the illusion of money you’ve been getting, but the real thing. More than enough to cover your bets at the racetrack. Take it. It’s the only way you’ll get your casino running in the black again.”

“And the only way you’ll get your restaurant,” Alviero bluntly states.

“Oh, I’ll get my restaurant. I just won’t get it from you, then you’ll have to face your backers when they wonder how honest you are with them. You’ll lose everything. The clock is ticking.”

Sinking back in his chair, he glares at me. I can see the wheels turning in his mind. His jaw is working, clenching back all the things he wants to say that a prudent man, an intelligent man, would think twice about. He might be smarter than I’ve given him credit for. I’m not sure yet.

“It’s a good deal,” I remind him when the silence drags. “And we’ll both have our assurances.”

Glancing at his daughter, he blinks once before facing me again. It grates on every egotistical nerve he has, but he rises to lean over the table. His jaw clenches, a poker tell I don’t miss, as he offers me his hand.

We have a deal.

Standing, I clasp his hand, and we shake on it.

“I’ll have the contracts drafted by noon and send them to your consigliere.”

Nodding, I take back my hand. “Thank you for a pleasant breakfast and your consideration. You won’t be disappointed.”

He snorts.

I don’t care if he already regrets it. I’ve won. As I leave, my gaze is drawn back to Clara.